Tag: colorado

it was crazy, really
the way that we sat talking stoned in your basement
the way that these words that we thought tasted like sweet ginger kombucha
poured out of our mouths like turpentine
muddying our naked bodies frictioning like flint

it was crazy the way we burned down
and the whole time we burned down
we yelled and whispered “i love you, i love you”
again and again until our bodies gave out

the whole time we burned down
the carcasses of deer dissimulating into the dirt
a fast motion video of ten thousand worker ants
hounding the occasion to taste the sweet remnants of the moment
but us born again small in their bellies
but ten thousand times over
but love

but there’s so much stubbornness in early May to be had
spring is a pushy little bitch

and then we were disappeared
too everywhere to feel anything other than everything
and in the everything was a call to arms to push through your madness
to push through my own madness
to find out what lies on the other side of all this madness
even knowing the answer is more madness

and every ounce of moon rock that we pulled from each other’s skin
by the force of our own separate gravities
every ounce of ocean that we precipitated into little cartoon clouds above our heads
every ounce of green honesty flourishing like feathers in your eyes
told me what i already knew because you’d told me so many times

what you’d told me so many times
as i maybe foolishly argue that love and freedom are the same thing

what you’d told me so many times
that i’m so busy thinking about the winter in the heart of the spring

the man put his hand on the stove and decided not to remove it
he felt the searing burn of the electric heat on his flesh but still
despite every impulse in his body he refused to take it away
as the tips of his fingers began to catch flame and crumble
like five cigarettes dwindling before his very eyes he wondered
am i any of this? what line have i crossed that no one else has
am i a hero? will it be a legacy worth telling that one day i
a man no different than any other man decided to put my hand
literally into the fire, here in the midst of this suburban whiteness
here in the midst of this humming refrigerator talk show blues
white bread bologna kraft single mayonnaise sandwich cut the crust
is it worth it that i burned myself alive alone here inside of my home
inside the strange tube light shadows of this cookie cutter kitchen
his wrists on fire his arms on fire all of him on fire until he disappeared

and then bones carried away into clinical labs
and then the dust of a human life swept up
sucked up into a vacuum separate from everything

and then what?

because making something disappear isn’t enough
you have to bring it back

don’t let anyone fool you into thinking that there is a downside to giving too much. just be careful that you are taking care of yourself along the way. if you’re doing that, your heart can be a greyhound bus, my friend, taking lines and lines of future funeral guests in and throwing them gently wherever it is you want them to go. let me make myself clear. love more. if you are at all like me, your plateaus are your valleys. your high points are painful because you realize damn, we’re not gonna get a lot higher than this. but you will.

i am not one to prescribe to the christian devotion but i do believe in heaven. to scoop up some beat philosophy i wanna tell you that if you’ve got the bricks and the smile you can start to build a staircase to heaven right now. just remember – the feet go on the top side of the bricks.

look, i’ve been scared shitless this year. my anxiety, especially lately has been through the roof, but i think that’s largely because i’m not letting it win. i hold it true that at my core i am an introvert but i love people too god damn much so what i’m learning is how to be a buoy in a sea full of people. i’ve gotta be. i was given the gift of air so i can’t stop filling these life rafts, and you. you’ve got way more things going for you than i do. anyone who resorts to rambling as a profession like myself really has but one job and that’s to tell you that you can do anything. anything other than writing. unless you’re a writer too in which case we’ve got coffee. it’s not always warm but it’s mostly free and once you sit down at the alphabet piano and feel those synapses firing in your fingers, you’ll get it.

there’s not much to get. the television will tell you there is. the internet will tell you there is. a massive self-help section at the old timey bookstore will tell you there is. that’s fine. none of these things are innately bad. but really what it all boils down to is it’s all love. and not just a little love. much love. what i have for you is much love. so eat off my plate. sit across from me at my table. get on this here greyhound bus because there’s space for you. there’s space and there’s much love. Yes.

we not old americawe hearty new americanswe go to work and put headphones inwe turn off worldwe strongwe know we must resist and resist constantlyalso we must sleepalso we must lovewe put full force into situationswhere we must learn put streamers up in hellwe don’t know the pastwe know of itwe’ve heard of itwe’ve seen germanywe’ve seen empires fallwe’ve never been in a house with such bad foundationwe love stillwe move shuffling through streetwe see friendly Denver turn rat racethe cows gone homewe dear john letters over the interwebswe die a little but preservewe lose left arm strengthen rightwe fight we fight we fightwe burn out on televisionwe seen every episode of everythingwe’ve heard every political speechmarched through every protestnow we march for our own feetand try to put the feet of other’s feet in our feet shoeswe dive we dive we divewe hold breath we hold spacewe trumpet of jazz in silent workroomwe machinebut we funky disco jazz machinewe beer we weed we drugs we drugs we drugswe sleep through anxiety earthquakeswe float down lazy river with margaritawe dolphins with spacey helmet headswe do what we do and we do what we have towe in fearwe bathe in fearwe brush our children’s hair in fearwe three day weekend fearwe water cooler conversation drowningwe wonder the time and datewe cars in lineswe wrapped up in old newspaperswe swallowed in landlocked blueswe trashporn koolaid busterwe under extreme tension headacheskin tone awareness campaignugly commercialsunofficial mascots and death noteswe elevator conversationswe doomed we buy house purchase mortage in doomedwe running on treadmillswe running on treadmillswe running on treadmillswe running on treadmillswe running on treadmills

and the next clock reminds me that in eight months of living in this apartment i have yet to clean my fridge
and the next clock reminds me that the older i get the less i grow my beard out and that one is surprisingly sad
the next clock tells me tonight i should relax and watch kendrick lamar videos
and the next clock irks me to paint paintings any time i try to close my eyes to sleep.

the next clock is you, naked at the foot of the bed, crawling towards me
yet another clock is you, locked off and silent, no matter what volume i twist my voice to.
yet another clock is america.
yet another clock is my car in the driveway, my debt flooding the basement, the sounds of sirens surrounding my house at one in the morning though i couldn’t be certain what the crime is.
the next clock is death. duh.
the next clock is time and time is a live studio audience laughing. they are laughing and laughing though i don’t get the impression any of this is funny to them. though i don’t get the impression they are enjoying themselves, or that they are here for any reason but to be an ethereal railroad tie, punched through my railroad.

and lately i don’t get the impression this gets easier.
i do get the impression that one’s dreams change over the course of any given lifetime.
sometimes in revelation. sometimes through Reality, as Reality kicks our asses at ping pong, and then proceeds to literally kick our asses. and then proceeds to give us the beautiful painful distinct privilege of watching our parents get older.

the next clock is me, and it’s a very large clock. i can see myself in its glass. the image is changing. for me, it’s like a roulette wheel spinning through different versions of myself, upon which i can impart varying levels of love.
the next clock is Christmas, because even the worst of Christians can’t deter me from loving the heart of winter, two exits after the solstice. even the worst of Christians can’t deter me from finding sonic joy in the temperance of warm alcohol and family. whatever family may be. don’t cage in your limitations on love. do you hear me?

the clock ticks like an atom bomb. i shed my skin like a snake. i drive the bus to school. i turn in my homework on time. i kiss the girl, on the neck, in the car. i pull out the praying bar and i sit and i pray to a wooden ceiling.

dear wooden ceiling, allow me to not get too wrapped up in this algebra. allow me to magically know when the pizza is done cooking. let me roller skate with death during the couple’s song. dear wooden ceiling, shield me. dear wooden ceiling, allow me to know the difference between surrender and defeat. may i lay with lions and come out their king. let me lay with a woman who humbles me. chase off the ghosts, this isn’t pac-man, but it’s pretty close. illusory fruit and maze. like a bible story.

dear wooden ceiling, when i die make me a clock with no hands. paint my wings in something heavier than feathers. kiss me warm. wrap me in velvet until i miss the sandpaper. until i wake up, and i wake up, and wake up, i wake up, wake up, wake up.